


The Truth About Monsters

by Aza_Marael



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: 10k and his soulthreads, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Murphy's kinda a dick, Soulthreads, poor 10k
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aza_Marael/pseuds/Aza_Marael
Summary: "The truth is this,every monsteryou have metor will ever meet,was once a human beingwith a soulthat was as softand lightas silk.Someone stolethat silk from their souland turned theminto this.So when you seea monster next,always remember this.Do not fearthe thing before you.Fear the thingthat created itinstead."~Nikita Gill





	The Truth About Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> So, just a little addition to the Z Nation fandom in celebration of the upcoming fourth season, because there’s just not enough fanfiction.
> 
> To give you a little background though, everyone had soulmates of varying kinds, all connected from love to tragedy. I’ll explain more into my universe here at the end, along with the meaning of the different colors.

Black threads have always been a sign. They were rare, a symbol of an end to something.

So when, one day, people began waking up swathed in black threads, some practically swimming in it, they knew. Many began prepping themselves for the next World War; hiding in bunkers, raiding grocery stores and pharmacies. Some went searching, finding the other ends of Threads wrapped around their arms, their fingers.

Tommy had always had one Thread. Green and blue fibers twisted together, physical proof of the connection he held with his father. It was always there, a comforting reminder that he wasn’t truly alone.

Thus, it was a shock to him when one day he awoke, swathed in colors. Blues and reds and oranges, more colors than he’d ever seen, each Thread intertwined with black fibers. He searched for the Thread he recognized, the one that he understood and took comfort in.

It was there, the green and the blue intertwined, but it was suddenly unfamiliar, strange and out of place. Silver and gray wrapped around it, beautiful but haunting in its appearance. Tragedy, change. He didn’t want that change, didn’t want whatever it would bring with it.

He never thought how great a change it would be, when zombies began shambling through the woods, but it was something he found himself surprisingly well-adjusted to. Tommy became a natural, the only real change to his life being the constant moving and the new target practice. At night, when he was doing watch, he sometimes wondered about the other Threads, the ones still draped across his arms and fingers. He wondered if they had something to do with the Zs, whose wrists were bare and whose souls were empty.

Then his father got injured trying to run through the woods, lugging firewood behind him. It was harder, travelling with an injured man. Some things, like travel, became slower. Many other things—the days, the nights, the food, the medicine—moved much, much faster. Survival became so pressing that, for a while, he forgot about the silver cord.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Watching the group at the ruins of some unnamed building was a strange experience for 10k. He had been on his own for nearly three years now, and he had grown accustomed to it. There was no need to speak much or make unnecessary sounds, and he could travel where he wanted, when he wanted.

He rarely encountered people as it was, and sometimes, he watched as they died, the Threads around their arms fading into nonexistence. Every once in a while, one of his Threads would fade. But it made little difference to 10k. As far as he was concerned, he would likely never meet most of the people on the other side of those Threads. He had accepted that, embraced it even.

So after saving the old man’s life on some passing whim and a chance to up his count, he spent much of his time watching the group, tracking their Threads. Seeing if others had met their soulmates had always given him a bit of hope, a reason to keep fighting; maybe fate had different plans in store for them, aside from this death and brokenness. He watched, with fascination, when Threads moved as their owners moved, shrinking and lengthening between some of the soulmates within the group.

But then he climbed off the roof and watched as some of their Threads moved with him.

It had been a long time since 10k had seen people, much less spoken with any. But for these people to be his soulmates… It terrified him. Memories of his father filtered through the jumble of broken up sentences and musings, and 10k was struck with the pain of where that had ended. What had happened three years ago felt like yesterday, and he ran.

They were probably all going to die in there anyway, so he was really better off just staying away from them, and from the pain. They would never know and they would all be better off.

_But what if they didn’t?_

Hesitation slowed him down, and he trudged only a few more feet before coming to a stop. What if…?

“Hey,” he turned to the pickup truck that pulled up beside him, and the old man from before leaned out the window. Blue and orange interwoven together, a thin strand of white wrapped around the Thread. It shrunk, shortened, nearly nonexistent as the two came within close proximity.

“Hey there! You’re that sharpshooter that saved my ass, aren’t you?” The man beamed, but 10k didn’t know what to say. It’d been too long since anyone had even said a word in his direction. “Oh man, I want to thank you.” Thank him? The older man glanced down at the Thread connecting them, gesturing towards the back of the pickup. “Do you need a ride?” He didn’t need to say anything else. 10k understood.

He hesitated, eyes flickering down once more to the Thread, but shrugged, hopping into the back. He took a deep breath and hoped he didn’t regret it, keeping his eyes open against memories of his father as he slapped the side of the truck. They rode on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That thing was not Cassandra.

It wasn’t. 10k didn’t want to even acknowledge it, couldn’t. The idea that she was still in there somewhere, that those _things_ were still human in some way…

He thought of how many he’d killed. 3,255. If those things were human still, what kind of monster would he be? Hell, what kind of monster was he _now_? How many people had he shot, murdered? How many Threads had he watched fade from their wrists?

Zombies couldn’t have souls. They were just Zs, nothing more. 10k didn’t think he could bear it if they did. He remembered watching the green and blue fibers fading from his wrist, from his father’s. He watched as the Threads faded from Cassandra’s wrists, her fingers. He watched the red Thread fade away, the black and silver fibers interwoven around it the last to go.

If zombies had no soul, no Threads, then why were Cassandra’s fading only now? What if she _was_ still in there somewhere? What if 10k had killed her like he had his pa?

But that thing was not Cassandra. It was the only thing keeping him sane.

So when Murphy returned, when 10k told him the truth, he could feel the way something seemed to break inside him. Cassandra was a piece of his soul, dead, but the part of him that was connected with Murphy? It was broken.

Later that night, he noticed one of his Threads had changed. The once colorful Thread—yellow, gray, black, white, silver, one of the thickest Threads he had—had faded, stripped down to a lonely black fiber. Endings. Brokenness.

10k couldn’t regret it, even if he had wanted to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Everything was a blur, highlighted by pain, pain, pain. 10k took a shuddering breath, fingers clenched around the old scrap of cloth pressed against his stomach. It was damp with his own blood, and for a moment, 10k was scared.

The movement from truck to sub jostled his injury, and more than once 10k found himself swimming in a hazy fog of escalating pain. At some point, he blacked out entirely.

 

 

 

He wandered back into consciousness again at some indeterminate point in time, blinking through the haze to see Murphy staring down at him, surrounded by several unfamiliar faces.

“Will he be alright?”

He sounded far away, much farther than only a few feet. 10k blinked a couple times, and faded back into oblivion.

 

 

 

The next time around, he was awoken by the flashing vermillion lights and the blaring of some kind of alarm. Everything was still a little fuzzy, but he could see well enough to know he was alone. His head felt heavy and his mind wasn’t working quite right, but he was lucid enough to know that something was wrong, and he needed to _get the hell out_.

He ripped the IV drip from his arm, rising slowly to assess his current condition. Things didn’t spin too much, so 10k rolled off the table he’d been lying on, one hand gently prodding and holding the bandage that covered the hole in his gut. He had to move, so he did, taking a sharp breath as he booked it out of the room. He had to wonder why they hadn’t given him some kind of painkillers, but it was too late to really think on it now, so he kept moving, pausing only briefly to grab a fresh shirt and his jacket from a passing room.

10k heard someone yelling down the hall, and made a beeline towards it. Better than getting lost on the ship before something went down, he supposed. He stumbled as the ship lurched, groaning at the pain it caused when he collided with the piping on the walls.

He thought he caught a glimpse of blue skin before pain lanced through him again and everything went dark. Again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

10k stared at the gun incredulously, still trying to understand what Murphy was saying. There was no reason to shoot, no reason to do anything. The man might have been an Ender, but he was still human. Still alive.

“Are you crazy? No.” He barely registered his hand taking the gun from Murphy’s. Better to keep the weapon away from the crazy bastard, after all.

“I asked nicely.” Murphy looked too confident, too calm. It made 10k seethe, fingernails digging into the palm of his free hand. “Shoot him.” He was egging him on.

10k turned his still semi-incredulity to Murphy. “You’re not the boss of me.” But Murphy didn’t seem to care, still calm, still smirking. The yellow fiber made sense now, had it still been there. But it was only black. (No, it wasn’t. Not anymore, he realized. The white fiber had returned now, the two interweaving together. How long had that been there without his notice? New beginnings… Was Murphy going to succeed?)

“Sure about that?” 10k stared back at him, resolute. If there was one thing he still knew, one thing he still valued, after everything that had happened, it was his freedom.

“More sure than anything in my life.” It was the only thing left in his life.

“Shoot him.” He was calm, but 10k was sick of this.

“No.”

“Shoot him.”

“No!”

As his voice began to raise, so did Murphy’s. Good. He deserved to be kicked off his high horse. “Shoot him!”

“ _No!_ ”

“ _Shoot him!”_

_“NO!”_

The sound of the clicking trigger—empty of bullets—physically made him jump, and he watched the anger on Murphy’s face morph back into a smug sense of satisfaction as he turned to see the firearm in his hand, leveled at the Ender’s head. He hadn’t even felt his arm move. Why? _Why?_

Wide, terrified eyes quivered in his direction, and 10k felt sick to his stomach. What was he about to do? What could he have done? What _had_ he done?

Murphy pulled the gun out of his hand with an amused shake. “Silly boy,” the bastard looked positively gleeful, but 10k couldn’t bring himself to look at him, eyes still glued to the green ones staring back at him. He had been about to murder an innocent man…

“Kids,” 10k finally turned to look at Murphy, “shouldn’t play with guns.” He waved the gun about, but all 10k saw was the black and white Thread that connected them. “Even ones that are—” The sharpshooter didn’t flinch at the sound, already in too much shock at the realization playing in his mind. “—Loaded.” Murphy grimaced at the fresh corpse, turning away as he handed the gun to one of the guards. “Somebody clean that up.”

10k turned back to the corpse, trembling, as he watched the man’s Threads slowly disappear. He watched Murphy’s back and the Threads around his wrists and fingers—they had grown in number over the past day. The silver and black Thread around Murphy’s pinky connected him to Dr. Merch, and 10k remembered the colors it used to be. Purple, gray, white.

He glanced down at his own Threads, the black and white that tied him to this self-proclaimed savior. It felt more like a leash.

 

 

* * *

 

 

10k’s blood ran cold every time he looked at the second, fresh bite on Dr. Merch’s face. He couldn’t. Not again.

They backed him to the wall, and 10k spared only a momentary glance out the window before he leaped through it, bag in hand.

He landed on his back, wheezing as his lungs tried to remember what breathing was like. Fingers prod gingerly along his torso. No broken ribs—though perhaps bruised—spine still intact, bullet wound still closed. He sat up, taking this moment to groan both in pain and appreciation that he was still among the living. When he looked up, however, it ceased, and the familiar gaze of one of the first Blends leered back at him.

10k leaped out the truck, one hand keeping a tight hold on the bag as he sprinted for all he was worth, heading for the forest. They wouldn’t be able to follow him so easily, even with the Thread connecting him and Murphy. He knew the forest, its terrain, its life. It was where he felt most at home.

One hand checking on the hole his gut—still closed—10k failed to see the Blend before the man crashed into him, knocking them both to the ground. 10k managed to throw him off with a blow to the throat, but it wasn’t long enough for him to gain momentum, not against a trained professional, and he grunted as he was slammed into the tree. The world spun, and he watched as Will Chaffin came jogging towards him, still leering.

Renewed determination sparked through him, and 10k clenched his jaw against the lingering pain, kicking the man off with some moves he learned from Warren. Again, he didn’t make it far, and he was thrown to the ground, groaning against both the bruises from his attempted escape and the pain from the hole in his gut. The guard walked towards him, confidence in his gait, but 10k had desperation, taking another page from Warren’s book and snapping the man’s leg with his feet, rolling out of the way as the Blend crashed to the ground screaming.

Will was running again, but 10k was still faster, and far more desperate than some mind-controlled Halfling.

“I don’t blame you, son.” Will was trying to talk him down. 10k edged backwards. He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t. “But he’s only trying to help.”

For a moment, 10k could put himself under the delusion that maybe Murphy _was_ right, maybe he _was_ trying to help, but then Will’s eyes flickered down to the bag at his hip.

“It’s time to come home.” 10k took one last glance at the man’s hand, and turned, and ran.

He was right. It was time to go home.

 

 

 

He was in so much pain. The bullet wound had opened again, if the blood leaking through his shirt had anything to say, and his head was hazy and he was in _so much pain._ 10k struggled onto the drifting wood, the water doing little to soothe the burn in his side. He watched the crow soar overhead, and then he was running, dirt and grime and zombies everywhere, but 5k was faster still.

“5k…” He groaned, huffing and huffing and trying to move faster, but he couldn’t catch up. The kid was too small, the horde too thick. He was following the Thread more than he was the kid at that point—the pink and blue and green interwoven together, and 10k couldn’t run fast enough.

He was terrified that it would disappear.

10k blinked, rolling his head and returning to the present moment, watching the Ender lift the deer’s antlers to his head.

_“No, he’s not dead!”_

_“I tried to get to him. There were too many.”_

Excuses. They were excuses. He was covered in blood, thick red droplets that rolled down his neck. The others watched, and Red, Red looked heartbroken. Fury danced in her eyes, and her crimson clothes dripped, dripped.

10k dropped the slingshot before him, and he wished she would pick it up and kill him in that moment. He didn’t deserve to live, not while 5k had to die like that.

“ _I don’t believe you._ ”

It was funny, he didn’t believe him either.

Red sprinted headfirst into the Zs, and 10k couldn’t get to her. Again, he was too slow. Again, he wasn’t fast enough, and again, he had to watch her disappear into the fray. The red Thread followed.

 

 

 

Then Red was everywhere, a constant comfort in the wilderness, always helping him, always just out of sight. He ran and ran, trying to ignore the searing pain that worsened with every step. And Red was there, until she wasn’t, and Will was there instead.

“You like fear, is that what it is?” Will’s face was up in his, and 10k tried to move, but it was futile. His body wouldn’t cooperate any longer, couldn’t, not against the pain. “You like pain?!” The Blend dug his thumb into the newly opened hole, and 10k hollered, eyes screwed shut and body arching, trying to move away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move.

The pain gave him a moment of clarity, and Will was shushing his cries, letting up only slightly on the pressure, and that moment of clarity was dashed by a fresh wave of hot fire streaking up and down his spine. Will’s leering face reminded him of Murphy’s smug expression for only a moment before consciousness was taken.

 

 

 

10k followed Will’s lead reluctantly, knowing he had little choice with an open wound and bound hands. The shot Dr. Merch had given him was wearing off, slowly but surely. He could tell by the world’s sharpened clarity, by his freedom beginning to trickle back out of his control.

“Don’t you know that Murphy has a plan to get the electricity going again? And running water? Can you imagine indoor plumbing again? I know I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it.” Will chuckled. “But somehow, when Murphy says something is gonna happen, it does.”

10k knew that. He knew Murphy’s potential perhaps better than anyone else. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You know,” Will shook his head, as if amused by 10k’s futile mental struggle, before turning back to him, “That’s what attracts the zombies. That’s how this whole thing got started, but Murphy’s cure, it fixes all that.” His eyes were imploring now, begging 10k to see it the way this man did. Maybe he would, if he had family on the line, saved by this supposed messiah. But 10k’s family was gone, taken from him the moment Murphy decided to turn him into his pawn. He stared resolutely ahead. “How could you not want to be part of that?”

All too easily.

“…You don’t know him like I do.”

Will laughed, raspy and disbelieving, and 10k spared a glance at his Threads. Three of them. One for his wife, one for his daughter, and one for Murphy. 10k wondered how many soulmates Will had lost to make him such a willing pawn in Murphy’s schemes.

“Look, all I know is that my daughter’s still alive, and me and my wife, my baby girl… For the first time in years, we’re actually safe.” 10k could see where he was coming from. But he couldn’t relate. Not when he didn’t know how much of Murphy was in there, and how much of Will was left.

“You’re only saying that because Murphy bit you.” He spit out the comment out of spite, knowing he was no better. The healing wound—it would definitely scar—on the back of his neck tingled, making this far too real. How close had he been to becoming like Will?

Will pulled him around by the shoulder, bringing them both to a stop. He stared into 10k’s eyes, but all 10k could see was a leash.

“I asked him to.” Will spoke quietly. Imploring again. “I begged him to, actually.” His brown eyes were wide, earnest. But how much of that was real? How much of it was Murphy’s lies filtering into his brain? “It was the best decision I’ve ever made for my family.”

“So you traded your freedom for safety. Do you even remember what you were before he bit you?” He couldn’t. All 10k really knew was his freedom. Even before the apocalypse, before the Zs. It had always been the one constant in his life, the one thing he always knew. He couldn’t go back there, not for as long as this black and white leash hung from his wrist.

“Yeah…” Will’s expression told him all he needed to know. “Afraid.”

 

 

 

When Will bypassed that zombie, 10k knew by the sinking feeling in his stomach what the man was planning. He tried to lift up the only rock in the clearing, but it was too heavy, and he couldn’t lift it with his hands bound.

It got too close, and 10k beat it off bare-fisted, knocking it to the ground, but the force of the action sent a spike of pain through his body, and his leg gave out. He tried to crawl away, to get far enough to be able to stand, but the zombie was too close, crawling after him, growling. It got close, too close, grabbing onto his foot, and 10k kicked it off, pushing forward on his elbows and knees towards Will, towards safety.

Will just watched from the sidelines. “The world without Murphy. It’s just more of _this_.” He looked vindictive, the nice guy act gone now, but 10k was more focused on survival to give him a proper answer. Instincts were kicking in, humanity sitting back and letting the primal part of his brain take over.

The zombie grabbed his foot again, and 10k kicked him off, dust flying where he pushed forward desperately, not able to get enough momentum with his hands bound. Then it grabbed his ankle, and he knew it was getting closer.

He didn’t want to die.

10k kicked the Z off, finally reaching Will, but the Blend didn’t make a move. “An unending slog of fear and misery leading to certain death.”

“Please!” 10k cried out, hearing the growling behind him, seeing the thing that used to be his father reaching for him.

He didn’t want to die.

“I could put you out of your misery. Give you mercy,” Will pulled out a pistol, levelling it at 10k’s head as the boy got to his feet, and 10k held back a sob, terror slowly spreading throughout his soul, cold and unforgiving.

“Please!”

Will leaned down, not looking sympathetic in the slightest. “Please what?”

All 10k could think of was his father’s last words, of Cassandra’s eyes right before she died. The last thing they saw was his face. He heard the zombie getting closer, too close. He didn’t want that to be his fate.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore!”

 

 

 

Red was everywhere, telling him to run, to move, to hide. Red was there, saving his life, and 10k wanted to believe it was really her, even when they both knew it wasn’t. The vermillion Thread didn’t lead in her direction.

It was time to go home. But Red was home. The forest was home. Murphy was home?

Everything was hazy, not quite in focus. Will was following, but he wasn’t. He had left. Or gone around. Either way, he was gone.

10k needed those vaccines. He didn’t quite remember why. (Murphy needed them. No, not Murphy. Him? Murphy.) Everything was murky, and all he knew was _live, live, live, go home._

Red was helping him live. Red would lead him home. The crow soared overhead.

 

 

 

_"_ You have to save him. 10k, you have to save him this time.”

A boy screaming. Wolves. Red was gone. And 5k needed him.

“10k, help me!”

Sobbing, and 10k fought off wolves, fought off anything and everything. The pink and blue and green of the Thread swung.

“5k, you okay?”

But it wasn’t 5k. He wasn’t there.

And a voice was in his head, reminding him. Murphy needed that bag. He had to go back. 10k fingered the Threads around his wrist, his fingers, watching them pass through. As if the Threads didn’t exist in the first place.

But then Red was there. And so was 5k. And he was happy.

“Thanks for saving me.” He meant it, in more ways than one. And when Red looked at him, there was a different kind of sadness in her eyes.

“You know I’m not real, right?”

His fingers found the Threads at his wrist. They didn’t lead to her.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “I don’t care.”

 

 

 

They couldn’t know about the bite, couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t.

Doc’s doubtful face made panic climb through the thick fog in his head and it was imperative that he understood. He wasn’t like Cassandra, he wasn’t one of those things. Just because he’d been bitten by Murphy… it didn’t mean anything. He was still him, still 10k. He still had his freedom. (Right?)

_“There’s nothing to fear.”_

_“I don’t fear you. I hate you. What you did to Cassandra was worse than death.”_

What he did to him was worse than death.

_“You won’t be afraid anymore.”_

He felt sick, nauseous, not quite right. The others were watching him, but it was a relief that made his knees weak when Warren pulled him into a hug, and then Addy. Like a piece of his soul had come back. The Threads still connected them. They hadn’t changed from before, and 10k didn’t know how relieved that made him. Everything changed nowadays.

“You sure we need this guy alive?” Escorpion—10k was still weirded out by that—gave him a look that 10k had often found on himself, as one tended to do when getting to know Murphy.

“You can’t kill him.” The words were out of his mouth almost without his registering it, and he knew it was the wrong thing to say when the others all looked at him, eyebrows drawn and eyes narrowed in suspicion. But they couldn’t know, couldn’t find out. Doc looked at the others, and even in his addled state 10k silently willed the older man to stay silent.

But Warren dropped the subject, and 10k wasn’t entirely sure whether to be relieved or not.

 

 

 

Addy and Doc caught him up on what he’d missed out on, the orange, green and black Thread connecting her to him a reassuring sight on her wrist.

10k liked being with them, liked talking to them. They were like a dysfunctional family, and it was more than a lot of people found in the apocalypse.

But when he glanced down at their Threads again, ensuring to himself they really hadn’t changed, their voices faded into indistinct mumbling and his hand shook, the canteen shook. 10k knew what was happening, but he didn’t want to believe it. The shot was fading, slipping, he needed another. He had to take another.

He brought his other hand up to stop the shaking.

 

 

 

It wasn’t the same. Things weren’t the same between them anymore. The Threads were flickering; they could change at any moment. It was terrifying.

“10k, you have got to tell Warren and the others about the bite.” Again, Doc was trying to convince him. He was just trying to help, 10k knew that, but he didn’t know how to make the other man understand this… this feeling he had. They couldn’t know, they couldn’t find out.

“No, Doc. I don’t want them to look at me like I’m Murphy’s bitch.” He wasn’t under that bastard’s control, he wasn’t some dog, some pawn to be used. 10k scratched at the black and white Thread. “I just need one of those injectors from Sun Mei, and I’ll be fine. Just let me do this my way. Please, Doc.” He looked into the older man’s eyes, trying to convince him with the eye contact.

When Doc and Addy left, 10k knew by the sinking feeling in his stomach that things weren’t going to turn out well. But Doc looked worried, and the last thing he wanted to do was worry the man, so 10k smiled and said, “I’ll be alright, Doc.”

But he wasn’t alright. The closer they got to Spokane, the more he struggled to separate his thoughts from Murphy’s influence. The closer they got, the more he knew he was running out of time.

_Obey me. Protect Murphy._

10k had to go. He had to leave. Something was wrong.

“10k?” Warren looked at him like she _knew_ something, knew something was wrong, knew that something wasn’t quite right. 10k didn’t know if he could trust her anymore, and that hurt. The green in their Thread flickered.

Warren was speaking, but her words were jumbled, fading, and everything was tunnel vision. He had to go, had to _go_.

“Are you okay?” The new one, Sun Mei, was staring at him, trying to peer into his face. 10k looked around. He didn’t trust her, didn’t trust them, and _he had to go._

“I’m just hungry. I’m gonna get some… crickets.”

He had to get away, had to move, and he made a beeline for the car. He needed the shot, needed it now, with the last semblances of defiance he had left in his blood, he needed to get away from Murphy’s control. He couldn’t, couldn’t go back to being that bastard’s bitch.

10k finally dug the bag out from the mess of bags in the trunk, but there was nothing in it, and he was shaking it, trying to find something, but the shots, they _weren’t there._

“Looking for these?” Warren had them. Warren had them, and the last of the fight left 10k. He had to leave, had to go home.

He grabbed the shots and ran.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He was fighting, and fighting… and fighting. And it was so hard, a futile struggle, and that bastard didn’t even look irritated. Murphy. 10k’s eye twitched. He hated the man, hated him more than anything. Human race be damned, he wanted to kill that bastard with his own hands. But he couldn’t even move, could barely even think. The last part of him that still remembered, still wanted that freedom, buried into the back of his mind.

But he had no more control. No more freedom.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your heart’s not in it.” Murphy smirked as 10k caught the knife without blinking. “Or rather, your soul.” They both knew it, both saw the way the Threads were fading, fraying. The green and gray Thread had lost its color. Just gray, black, and white. Murphy seemed to suck the color out of their Threads, out of his Threads. And 10k hated it, despised it, mourned the loss somewhere deep in his soul. “You react, but you don’t act.” He gestured to the knife still in his hand. 10k wanted to throw it back at him, but he couldn’t hurt Murphy.

The man rose from his seat, bringing the teacup with him. “I need you to take the initiative here. We are preparing to go to war.” He leaned over, all seriousness now, and still 10k didn’t move. Couldn’t move. “And you should be the hero at the front of my army. My Ajax. My Achilles. My Luke Skywalker.” Even if 10k didn’t understand the man’s references, he knew what Murphy was referring to. “It’s a problem. And we need to fix it.” 10k didn’t want to.

Murphy sat down, still staring at him, and 10k suddenly knew what was going through the man’s head. “And I think I know how.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He knew what Murphy was thinking and he couldn’t do it. But it was what Murphy wanted. It had to be done.

“I think it’s that stupid name.” No. “Ten thousand.” Murphy took a sip of his tea, and 10k’s finger twitched. “10k isn’t just a name to you. It’s your mission.” He couldn’t. “It’s your purpose.” He wanted to beg, to plead. “But as far as I can see, as long as you’re 10k, you’re no good to me.” He couldn’t take that away too. “I think you need a new goal. A new purpose. You thought it was killing 10,000 zombies, but it’s not.” But it _is._ Murphy didn’t understand. “That’s an outmoded way of thinking. The world has moved past that sort of thing.”

 It was all he had left.

“So I have decided,” Murphy looked immensely pleased with himself, “to give you a new mission.” He paused. “Thomas.”

10k’s eyes widened, a flicker of control coming back to him before it was swept away again. Murphy had taken everything from him.

“First, I need to know that I can trust you.” He raised his hand, his finger, and 10k’s fist trembled with the force of it, the silent, internal battle of his will against Murphy’s. But he wasn’t strong enough. His eye twitched, and at Murphy’s command, the knife came down.

“Do you know the knife game?” Now Murphy was just bragging. He was just flaunting his control over 10k—no, his name was Thomas now, Murphy had taken that too—while he could do nothing about it. But the question required an answer, compelled it, and Thomas gave a short, jerky nod. Murphy’s smug face stared evenly back at his own. “Show me.”

Thomas couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop himself. The knife moved between his fingers.

“If it were any of the other blends, there wouldn’t be a question.” The knife _tap-tap-tapped_ against the tabletop. “But you and I have a history.” The tapping increased in speed, in frequency. “And I need to know that won’t interfere with things.” He hated those pauses Murphy made, when all that could be heard was the knife against the table. “I need to know what you are willing to do for me.” The tapping was faster, and getting faster, and Thomas couldn’t stop until Murphy said so. “I need to know that you are willing to kill for me, Thomas.” He clenched his jaw. He could feel the blade cutting skin, over and over and over again. “Or die for me.”

He didn’t want to die.

Murphy watched, and Thomas couldn’t fight it any longer. It hurt too much. It was too tiring. He couldn’t do it anymore.

“Enough.” The sharp words caused his hand to freeze in place. The blood was warm between his fingers.

Thomas set the knife aside, and prayed he wouldn’t have to pick it up again. Murphy looked down, and smiled. Thomas didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see what Murphy could make him do, the possibilities.

Murphy stood, removing the handkerchief from his coat, and Thomas gave up.

A tear escaped from his eye, and with it, the last of his soul.

The Threads around his wrist faded, dissipated, and all that was left was the black and white Thread that tied him to Murphy. His leash. A fine silver fiber had wrapped around it, something new. But it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. Murphy gave him a mission, and he needed to complete his mission. It was all he had left.

The silver stayed, but for a while, he forgot about it.

**Author's Note:**

> So, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, Soulthreads are made up of typically 2 to 3 fibers of different colors, since relationships are complicated. 4 fibers are rare, but most people nearly never have more than that. Since Murphy is Murphy, he’s got a lot of rare Threads, haha. Threads can change over time, though that’s usually pretty rare, caused only by significant events in the lives of the connected people. Since we’re in the apocalypse, though, the changes are probably more frequent now. Threads also fade away when someone on one end dies, no doubt as all our characters have experienced many times by now.
> 
> (Fun fact: it’s canonical that Cassandra is 10k’s 3,255th kill. Pisay Pao has a necklace of it.)
> 
> The meaning of the different Soulthreads:  
> Red – Connected by romantic, sexual love  
> Orange – Connected by friendship  
> Yellow – Connected by challenges; opposing forces  
> Green – Connected by personal growth; teaching and respect  
> Blue – Connected by familial or familial-like bonds  
> Purple – Connected by a search for meaning; spirituality  
> Pink – Connected by romantic, nonsexual love  
> Black – Connected by endings; brokenness   
> Gray – Connected by great change  
> Silver – Connected by tragedy; deep sadness  
> White – Connected by new beginnings; wholeness


End file.
